


Bloodline

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Character Death, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 11:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7799566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s little that can be said – Aramis knows this – and so when he meets with Porthos again, who is holding the new King of France, whose face is steely and reserved - Aramis isn’t sure what he expected.  (Coda fic for 3x09)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodline

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "Aramis comforting Porthos post-Tréville's death"

There’s little that can be said – Aramis knows this – and so when he meets with Porthos again, who is holding the new King of France, whose face steely and reserved – Aramis isn’t sure what he expected. His hands are shaking as Porthos guides the horse forward, the new King secure in his arms. Behind them, the Queen makes a sound of wounded relief and he hears her rushing forward to meet Porthos and her son. 

Porthos says nothing as he climbs down off his horse, feet steady on the ground. He lifts the King down off the horse, too, setting him down on the ground carefully, always so sure what his hands are doing, the exposure of his strength. Each move is wooden, ill-moving. Just going through the motions. 

Her Majesty is there in a moment, taking up her son into her arms and hugging him tight. Aramis hears Athos say something behind him but he isn’t sure what more there is to say or to do – isn’t sure where he should look. He watches Her Majesty hold her son. He watches Porthos standing near his horse, the reins in his hands. He doesn’t look at Aramis – doesn’t look at anyone. It is as if he isn’t there at all. Aramis’ hands shake. 

Later, as Aramis follows Porthos back to his rooms – his own body agitated, uncertain, relieved that the King is safe, that they’re all safe, but aching for the loss out on that field, aching from the sheer relief that Her Majesty’s son is alive – and what that means. Porthos walks in front of him, straight-backed and silent. He hasn’t said a word since returning from the forest with the new King. But he hasn’t told Aramis to leave, either, and Aramis likes to think that this is something he can do, that this is a comfort he can give. 

In Porthos room, Porthos says nothing for a long moment. Only toes off his boots, tugs off his gloves, sets his jacket over the back of his chair. His back stays to Aramis, who lingers at the door. 

Then, quiet, Porthos says, “I lost my father today.” 

Still quiet, Aramis watches Porthos bow into himself and let out a full-body sob. Aramis is at his side in an instant, pulling him into his arms and holding him. He lets Porthos sob, tries to hold back his own string of tears, and ultimately fails – burying his face against Porthos’ shoulder and anchoring himself to him, clinging to him. Porthos clings back, holding him tight, his sobs hitching and painful. 

There’s nothing that Aramis can say – nothing that he could possibly say around their tears, regardless. And so he only holds Porthos as he shakes apart.


End file.
